


you make flowers grow in my lungs and although they are beautiful, i cannot breathe

by sappho_e



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ...Requited Love?, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst, F/F, Flower metaphors, Hanahaki Disease, Karkat has Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pale Karkat and Kanaya, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sappho_e/pseuds/sappho_e
Summary: Of course Alternia could find a way to ruin something as beautiful as love.You're flushed for Dave, but every time he smiles at Terezi, you retch up delicate flowers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right so this is a bit of a self-indulgent fic. Am I pining over people who don't care? Sure am! Am I writing fanfiction to cover this up? Sure am. 
> 
> As soon as I find a happy ending, these two will have a soft epilogue I swear. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and please leave a kudos/bookmark/comment!

You meet Dave Strider when you’re six sweeps old.

He’s tall and sharp, all angles and tension to counter your soft fists and softer stomach, and the stupid shades perched constantly on his nose annoy you more than you thought possible.

He’s nowhere near perfect: he needs to grow into his gangly limbs and he never stops moving even going as far to pound out his sick beats on table tops and his knees and your back. He can’t ride the stupid skateboard he carries everywhere for a year and you can’t hold a conversation without talking about movies or launching yourself at him with fists raised. He complains he’s cold every time he wears ripped jeans, and you’ve been wearing the same sweater since you were five sweeps. You’re something akin to a short ball of rage, and no matter how much you squawk and rant at him he never seems bothered which just pisses you off more.

Somehow you remain friends, held together by your ragtag group of humans and trolls. Rose, Kanaya, John, Jade, Terezi, you and Dave stick together through high school, dragged together by school systems, fate and Rose’s meddling ways.

Sweeps pass and you both grow but you don’t change.

You’re 8 sweeps old, with Dave turning 17 human years. Dave rockets up to 6’’5 and you scrape 5’’3 with your DMs on. He shaves the sides of his head and you’re still recovering from the worst fucking haircut possible (you’re certain that Kankri asked the hairdresser _specifically_ for the bowl-cut).

At first, you’re sure it’s kismessitude, with the way your insides knot up when he smirks, but when he tips his head back to laugh and the sun streaming through the window of Kanaya’s hive catch the lines of his throat and the freckles on his cheeks, something wells up inside you.

You have a moment of confusion until something presses against your lips and you’re up and off the sofa, quick enough to rival Dave’s flashstepping.

You get to the absolution block just in time to retch into the loadgaper, and you’re certain it’s the hamburger you had earlier until you cough and splutter and a single blood-red flower bursts past your lips and falls into the gaper. You swear, softly and then louder, before you’re choked off by more stems.  

You heave again and again, a whole fucking bouquet of flowers forcing themselves up your throat and there are pained tears in your eyes, blurring the petals of the flowers below you.

Kanaya comes to find you and you don’t even think you locked the door. She sits next to you and rubs your back gently, brushing petals and spit from your chin. 

***

It finally subsides, and you sit side by side on the cool tiled floor, and you’re so pale for her and so flushed for Dave that it hurts.

“Is this the first time?” she asks, and you nod, still trying to rub the feeling of nectar-heavy blossoms from your lips with the sleeve of your sweater.

“Who is it?” Your mind goes back to Dave’s high cheekbones and slender fingers and you fight the urge to gag again.

You shrug, not trusting your insides to stay inside if you open your mouth. Kanaya purses her lips like she knows you’re lying (she’s been hanging out with Rose too much) and rests the back of her hand against your cheek for a moment.

“I’m sorry Karkat.” You shrug again, and tears prick your eyes again.

When you finally feel like moving, Kanaya grabs your bag from the main room so you don’t have to see him again while you tug your red Converse on again. You just want to go home and sleep.

Dave follows Kanaya out to the hallway, and you swallow again and again.

“You okay, Karkles?” He asks as you sling your satchel over your shoulder and avoid looking at him.

“He just feels sick. I did warn you against that hamburger earlier, Karkat.” Her eyes flicker between you and Dave and you know she knows. She steps casually between the two of you and you can feel his eyes on you as you turn towards the door.

The others in the living room chorus their goodbyes and well-wishes but you only really hear Dave’s quiet ‘’drop me a line if you need anything Karkles’’.

Kanaya closes the door behind you gently and you only manage a few steps before you’re coughing again into your closed fist, a spray of ivy and delicately-petalled stems falling to the pavement.

God you wish he could love you. You wish you could believe he did.

 

You wish you were capable of being loved.

 


	2. although they are beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to release this for Valentine's day but it's really ragged tbh ://  
> Hope you enjoy and sorry for any errors!  
> Please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed!

Hydrangea, carnations, peonies. After an hour online, you know the names of all the flowers you’re spewing up.

You’ve also exhausted every resource on Hanahuki Disease on the TrollWeb and you have three options:

Cough up petals until the flowers in your lungs and the love in your heart chokes you.

Confess your love to Dave fucking Strider and have him love your ugly obsessive ass back.

Have an operation to remove the flowers and all memories of Dave Strider. But healthcare? In this economy?

All three options are wildly unimaginable yet as you wheeze you feel that the first option may be your only one.

* * *

 

Time stumbles by in fitful sleeps and blood on your lips and rose petals on your sheets like a scene out of your romcoms, only much gorier.

It’s been a week, and you’ve coughed flowers up each day. It didn’t get any easier and as you flop back on your bed from leaning over your trashcan, gasping at the street-lamp-lit ceiling you fancy you can feel the flowers in your chest curling around your sternum, coiling around your lungs in a devoted grip.

Eventually your phone starts ringing, the default ringtone that you never bothered to change, and you grope for it on your bedside table.

“Hello?” You manage, and your throat is ragged raw and you wince.

“Hello Karkat, we’re going to John’s later to watch movies and have some actual human-slash-troll contact for once. I trust you are in?” Rose says in far too bright a voice for so early in the morning.

“What happens if I don’t fucking want to go?” you ask, burrowing further under your covers. Your room smells of iron and sweat and flowers and you scrunch your nose up.

“Then we all come over to yours and bang on the door until you get your act together.” She answers sweetly, and you groan but you know she’s right. They’ve done it before.

“Then I guess I better get up.” You say and make absolutely no move to get up.

“Get up? Karkat, it’s one in the afternoon.” You roll over at that and see that your curtains are drawn and blocking all the sunlight out. You’ve slept for about twelve hours and you feel exhausted.

You remain silent for a while and Rose sighs. “I’ll see you at John’s, Karkat.” She says finally in a soft voice.  Her soft condescending tone sets you on edge enough to throw the phone into a pile of clothes on the floor before she even hangs up.

* * *

 

You manage to get up, finding Kankri left to his boyfriend’s early and thankfully isn’t around to lecture at you for waking up so late. Luckily, he’s at his boyfriend’s a lot nowadays, and he isn’t around to hear you coughing and retching all the time. Within an hour or so, you’ve showered and gotten dressed, but you don’t make an effort. Your friends have seen you in your worst times, they won’t keel over at your unstyled hair and old jeans.

A bus journey later, you find out you’re early to the party which as Dave would say is a ‘’big fucking mistake, no one’s drunk enough to have fun, it’ll be a fucking middle-school dance, girls on one side, boys on the other. Everyone’s avoiding eye contact, everyone’s asking their parents for an immediate lift home ‘’can we blow this popsicle stand?’’ they’re begging on their flip Nokias. ‘’I don’t know, can you?’’ says that one teacher who volunteered to chaperone all these good Christian kids and is now about to strike out alone on the dancefloor doing the Macarena wrong while the kids curl up and cry— ‘’

(It’s a speech he’s given several times)

 

Despite this, Dave is actually there before you, lounging on the sofa with Fox News on the TV. Kanaya’s there too and you feel smug that Rose isn’t there after making all that effort to ensure you were there. John is there too but he does live here. He’s kneeling in front of the TV surrounded by his dumb movies and you kick ‘Four Weddings And A Funeral’ into the Watch pile before he can complain.

You look quickly away from Dave, but the image of him, his long jean-clad legs and one arm stretched across the sofa, his shirt riding up the slightest over his hips to show his dark skin; his full lips and his curly hair spread out on the cushions, remains on the backs of your eyelids when you blink. He looks relaxed and happy and you know that’s rare for him. He’s on his phone with his other hand, thumb tapping the glass. He’s probably playing Tetris or Minesweeper or something stupidly ironic.

You’re relieved to see Kanaya, but you know she’s going to grill you on the past week the second she’s alone with you and you sit yourself comfortably on the sofa quickly, so she can’t immediately drag you off.

You make a point of not looking at Dave and the exposed strip of skin by his hip as he stretches.

His foot pushes against your shoulder. “Hey Kitkat.” He’s wearing mismatched socks—one has cacti on it and the other is blue with frills on and you have a feeling it’s Rose’s—and he’s peering at you from over the top of his shades. You get a glimpse of red and immediately think of the hot red that drips heavy from the petals you held in your palms.

“What, asshole?” You give him your best glare and his lips twitch up in a smile that almost makes it slip.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks, actually sounding concerned instead of flat, and god he really makes it hard for you to ignore him.

You shrug. “I’m still fucking here aren’t I?”

He laughs at that, his head tilted back, and you manage a smile.

“I’ll make some popcorn before everyone else gets here.” Kanaya announces and you almost scowl at her interruption but it’s for the best. You give her a nod and rest your chin on top of the cushion in your lap, eyes focused on your phone.

“Karkat you can help.” She adds, and you give her a scowl, but you get up, throwing your cushion in John’s direction just to annoy him.

Making popcorn is not a two-person activity and you are not surprised when she immediately turns on you when you get to the kitchen.

“What’s happening Karkat? How are you?” She says urgently and for a moment you consider feigning innocence of the whole matter and acting like nothing happened.

But you’re so tired and you want someone to pay attention to you for once.

You sag against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest and hunching in on yourself.

“You can always message me when I don’t see you, you know.” You say but it’s for show and she only smiles sadly at you as she reaches for the popcorn in the cupboard. You know where everything is in John’s kitchen, you’ve been coming here for his dad’s cakes and his movies (in that order) for years.

She slides it into the microwave and you’re glad that she’s picked salted, your favourite. You don’t know what that says about your personality.

“You don’t tell the truth online and I prefer heart-to-hearts face-to-face.” She says and leans on the counter opposite you.

“Now, what’s happened?” she repeats, and you look askance.

“I’m still coughing up flowers.” You tell her in a mutter.

“What kinds? Petals?” She asks, and you know she’s done the same TrollWeb crawl on the subject.

“Roses. Red flowers. Fucking stems and everything.” You tell her shortly and her mouth downturns.

“Why is it accelerating so quickly? This is bad. You need to confess to them and have them reciprocate. You cannot die,” Her voice is fierce, and you wish it could be that easy. She gives you a glare you’ve only seen from her once or twice. “I won’t allow it. You either go to the hospital or confess.” Kanaya says. She takes the popcorn out and you automatically slide her a large bowl to pour it into.

 

“I’ve loved them a long time, I guess. And I’ve only realised recently which is why it’s bad?”  You guess. Maybe your mutant blood has sped up the process of the disease. Knowing your stupid shitty luck, it has.

Kanaya’s eyes are wide and sincere. “Confess Karkat. They’ll be stupid not to love you back.”

You laugh bitterly. “Look at him, Kan. He wants nothing to do with me.” You spit out the last word but take care to maintain a decent volume for your own sake.

There’s a pause and you bite your tongue. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Him?” Kanaya probes gently and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“It’s Dave.” You hiss, lowering your hands and volume as there’s a knock on the front door and you see Dave loping to answer it through the kitchen doorway. Kanaya’s face softens, and she gives you a pitying look that makes you yearn for a pile and a feelings jam.

Dave’s voice drifts to you from the hallway as he welcomes Rose and Jade in and you tune out the words, but Dave’s loud laugh makes you flinch.

“I’m in love with Dave fucking Strider." 

* * *

 

The movie pauses right in the middle of an action scene of one of the films John wanted to watch and you don’t even get a moment to gear yourself up to complain before Dave starts talking.

“Hey guys we have an announcement.” you reluctantly glance down the couch at him. Kanaya and Rose have kindly seated themselves between you and Dave, and you’ve managed two whole movies without looking at him. If anyone notices your heavy wheezing throughout the film, they don’t mention it.

“Dave’s pregnant.” John blurts from where he’s been banished to the floor and laughs. Terezi cackles next to Dave with her usual lack of volume control but its Dave’s soft chuckle that stabs you in the ribs, and the look he gives Terezi afterwards. You can’t describe it, but it reminds you of every single rom-com you’ve ever seen—the smile between the two love interests as the rain begins to pour and their hands clasp and their lips meet and—

“Anyway, we just wanted to tell you guys, me and Terezi have started dating so I’m officially off the market, ladies.” Dave grins at the ‘ladies’ in the room, even though Rose has been dating Kanaya for the past two sweeps and you have never seen Jade Harley smile at any guy or gal or nonbinary pal the way she looks at her plants.

“So, you guys have to suffer through our PDA now!” Terezi chirps with a wide _happy_ grin and you’ve never wanted to punch someone more. She’s holding hands with Dave you realise, her claw-tipped fingers laced through Dave’s chipping-black-nail-polished ones. You feel like you’re falling, specifically into lava after being stabbed in the chest a few times.

“Watch out RoseMary because there’s another human/troll power couple coming through.” Dave jokes, grinning (and he’s still stupidly human-pretty even with Terezi’s hand in his and oh gog, her lipstick on his cheek, how did you miss that, _stupid_?) at Rose and Kanaya. Rose claps in her polite way and laughs with him, but it’s Kanaya’s look of horror towards you that makes the thorns in your lungs tug. She’s not laughing with them, hadn’t cracked a grin at all, and her wide jade eyes follow your every move as you swallow hard and slap a grin on and spout ‘’It’s about fucking time you two.’’

You manage to sit through everyone’s congratulations and another few minutes of the playing movie before climbing out of your seat and heading to the bathroom to heave and spit petals into your hands.

There’s an insistent knocking at the door and you brush your hands clean before unlocking the door.

Your heart jolts to a stop when it’s _Dave_ outside the door, hand still raised to knock and complete with a perfect press of Terezi’s black lips to his cheekbone like a brand. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re sure that there’s blood on your lips. Terezi’s head pops up over his shoulder with a grin, but that’s her default expression.

“Karkat!” she exclaims like this is Wriggler-Hide-And-Cull, and you see Kanaya’s blessed head behind her, pushing her out of the way.  

His face scrunches behind his shades and his lips part but you’re already trying slam the door in horror. A shoe wedges itself in the gap and you’re about two breaths away from hyperventilating. Dave pushes the door against your back and you force yourself back as hard as you can, but your feet are slipping on the tiles.

“Dude are you sick again?” Dave says, and you scrub your chin, feeling tears prick your eyes.

“Fuck off!” you yell, voice almost cracking, fists clenched until your knuckles glow a muted red.

“Dave! Move!” Kanaya’s voice comes through the door and you’ve never been more thankful for your moirail.

There’s a lot of shuffling and Dave’s shoe withdraws. You’re too out of it to really listen to Dave’s argument with Kanaya, and you only wipe your panicked tears away when Kanaya knocks.

“Karkat, they’ve gone. May I come in?” You butt-scoot across the floor to let her in and she shuts the door tight behind her and crouches by you.

“I had no idea they were going to announce that. Rose didn’t mention anything and then when you left, he flashstepped after you so fast I couldn’t even catch up.” She sounds so upset by the whole fucked up mess and you shake your head.

“S’not your fault. I fucking knew he would never like me. They-“ You pause while you cough and Knaya’s hands flutter like moths around you, trying to help but unsure of how to. “They deserve a nice relationship. I don’t deserve him.”

You weren’t really supposed to vocalise some of that and Kanaya gives you a frown.

“You deserve so much more than dying because you’re too scared to tell him you love him.” She tells you and you slump against her, hands fisting in her shirt like a scared wriggler.

“I guess I’m a coward then.” You mutter and Kanaya pushes you away to capture your face between her hands. You look off to the side, unable to meet her teary green eyes.

“You’re not a coward. You’re stubborn but you’re not going to die. I’ll tell him myself if I need to.”

You laugh wetly, without humour, into her shoulder. “You can’t, it has to be me. I can’t ruin their relationship.”

Kanaya opens her mouth to reply and you sigh, clawing at your eyes again. You’re tired and your lungs are aching and your time with your friends is running out.

You get up from the bathroom floor and you would be more bothered about having sat on it for so long, but you know Dad Egbert would never let _bacteria_ grow on his floor.

“I’m fine, Kan. I just want to watch the movie.”

Kanaya paps your cheek and follows you silently out to the others.

Dave watches your every step towards the sofa, and you focus on whatever’s playing on the TV.

“We waited for you before we played it.” John says, gesturing at the Play Menu of Four Weddings and A Funeral and you manage a small smile.

You stick around at John’s for a while, with Rose and Kanaya flanking you on each side like bodyguards. It’s fun, it’s _familiar_ when John and Jade compete in catching popcorn in their mouths and John almost cracks his head against the TV stand when he leans too far.

Kanaya doesn’t let Dave get near you and he eventually stops trying to catch your eye from down the sofa. You steadfastly don’t look at him, but it still hurts when you sneak a glance to see him gazing at Terezi.

You don’t care though.

(you care)

They’re happy.

(you’re dying)


	3. I CANNOT BREATHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos or bookmark if you enjoyed this!
> 
> I wrote this in a mostly bad place, and gay fanfiction won't and didn't fix that but happy endings and about 8000 words of poetic prose help. Also, if you catch all the stupid ironic canon references across the whole of the story, I love you. 
> 
> I really, really hope you enjoy and remember, it does get better!

School starts up again soon, and you see Dave every single day.  Your friendship group is big enough that there’s someone in each of your lessons and you all descend on one picnic table at lunch. You share an interest and class in Biology, and you sit next to each other in English. Terezi smirks over your shoulder all the way through Product Design and Kanaya frowns reproachfully at you throughout History and when the teacher tells you to pair up for a project you seize John before Kanaya can grab you.

You pick at your sandwich while John complains about the project and you end up throwing the whole thing away when Dave and Terezi shamelessly start sticking their tongues down each other’s throats. Rose elbows Dave hard and tells him to get a room and you’re thankful until Terezi drags Dave off to the disabled toilets with a wink and a whoop from John. You know you’re imagining the hesitation, or the backwards glance Dave gives the table but then you’re too busy scribbling Chemistry homework to care.

(you care)

Your nights are filled with leaning over the toilet bowl and staring at your bedroom ceiling with your rom-coms playing in the background. They don’t comfort you as much as they used to and losing them is somehow worse than the blooms on your lips.

You pass up more meetings with your friends than you really ought to and you hear from Kanaya’s green text that Dave and Terezi skip on them too.

 

* * *

 

 

You’re buried under the knitted blankets Rose has given you under the years with a pillow hugged close to your chest while ‘’Ten Things I Hate About You’’ plays on the laptop balanced on your knees when there’s a knock on your door.

You don’t even bother pausing your movie, assuming Kankri would answer it but when there’s another knock you remember that Kankri left late last night and didn’t bother telling you when he would be back.

You shrug off the mountain of blankets and make your way to the door, running a hand through your hair in an effort to make yourself presentable for whatever poor delivery man or Jehovah’s Witness is on the other side.

You open the door, the words ‘’I don’t worship God, I worship Satan’’ already on your lips when you see who exactly is on your doorstep.

Dave Strider is, frankly, a mess. His clothes are absolutely soaked through and water is rolling down his face and shades. His shoes are untied and there are fading hickies on his neck and a skinniness to his ribs under his skin-stuck top.

You kinda of gape for a moment and he raises a hand to wave.

“Hey Kitkat.” He says in a thick voice and he’s either upset or sick. Walking around in the torrential rain would probably do that to his squishy human body.

“Dave?” you say, out of a lack of any other intelligent response and his lips tremble like he’s trying for a smile.

“Can I come in?” he askes and his voice wobbles just enough that you realise he isn’t sick.

Dave Strider is on your doorstep and crying.

You finally manage to get yourself together (how ever ironic that may seem) and step back to let him in closing the door behind him and the cold out.

“Shit you’re soaked.” You say and lead him down the hallway, not really caring about the wet footprints he leaves although he hesitates about his dripping clothes.

“Yeah, I came straight from Terezi’s.” His breath hitches and you pretend to ignore it, instead flinging a towel from the linen cupboard at him before stomping ahead to your room.

“Terezi’s?” You repeat and stop yourself no matter how hard it is to ask about what exactly happened. “Wait, save it. You need to dry off.”

He obviously doesn’t have any dry clothes with him, he doesn’t even have a hoodie, and you pick up the first things you find on the floor.

“My hoodie’ll be too big for you, but I’m sure you can suck it up.” You try to keep some of your old banter in your voice, but you know he sees your worried gaze in the dimness of your room.

His laugh is caught between a snort and a sob and he catches the hoodie and tracksuit bottoms you throw at him.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and you know even with his shades acting as a barrier he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t be, asshole. Just go and dry off. I’ll make you some coffee.”

He nods, seemingly listlessly. “Black, one sugar.” He murmurs and heads for the bathroom. He hasn’t been here a while—not since you started being sick and he started dating Terezi—but he’s been coming to yours since he was 5 sweeps, he knows where everything is.

You make coffee, sneaking an extra spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk in his, like you know he likes no matter how tough he likes to pretend he is, and a squeeze of chocolate syrup in yours.

When he finally emerges from the bathroom he’s dressed in your hoodie and there’s a familiar tug in your heart when you see him. He’s taller than you but you’re heavier than his bean-sprout frame so he looks damned near drowned in it. The sleeves end mid-forearm for him, revealing the pastel pink Band-Aids decorating his pale skin.

He towels his hair, with his shades annoyingly staying perched on his nose and heads straight for his coffee on your desk.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he motions at the paused film on your laptop and you nod, fingers wrapped around your own coffee.

“Do you want to talk about…” you nod at the sodden pile of ripped jeans and Goodwill record shirt on your floor in lieu of finishing your sentence and almost miss the way his mouth tightens.

He climbs into your desk chair like a cat, long legs folding up off of the ground, curling around his coffee. It’s cute but you know he’s doing it to make himself smaller, to disappear into himself.

“It’s cool if you don’t. We can stick one of your dumb Fast and Furious films on if you want.”

He stares at his milky coffee for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, no. I guess you would know soon anyway.” You know his instant-ground coffee, nor his outdated Father Christmas mug is as interesting as he is making it out to be, but you don’t press it.

“Me and TZ broke up.” There’s another tiny pause. “She broke up with me.”

The resulting relief almost chokes you, or maybe it’s the flowers and the bugs and the bees festering in your ribs.

“I’m sorry.” You say, when you have control over what comes out and what stays in and he shrugs.

“I guess it was coming.” He tells his coffee and you see a silver of his rose-red eyes as he glances up at you from under his eyelashes.

“Do you know why?” you should be known as the resident cool kid with how calm your voice is right now. However, the actual resident cool kid is not having the same luck.

“She said,” you hear the click in his throat as he swallows and try to look as neutral as possible, while mentally scolding yourself for how relieved you are. Dave is obviously torn up about the whole thing and he came to you for advice and support and you don’t want to be a rebound, do you? (if it got you closer to Dave Strider’s smooth skin and marked neck and blood eyes, you would. You do, you do, you do.) “We weren’t in love with each other. She was distracted by someone else and I was. And she wants to be friends but not together and she wanted me to—”

He cuts himself off and bites his lip before chancing another peek at you.

“Do you feel like you were in love with her?” you probe gently and try to focus yourself on being the sage old rom-com watcher rather than the pining horns-over-heel wreck you are.

Dave laughs, and the broken noise makes your heart ache even more. “I thought I was.”

You still want to know more, but when Dave dips his head you can see him blinking agitatedly under his shades and you reach for your computer.

“Let’s just watch Fast and Furious.” You tell him bluntly and he unfolds himself to perch next to you.

“Fast Five?” he askes hopefully and you scoff.

“Of course, asshole.”

 

You make your way through the Fast and Furious movie and then a romcom Dave clicks on before you can choose anything else (you know he chose it for you, and you don’t tell him you’ve already seen it) before Dave speaks.

“We haven’t done this in ages.” He murmurs and despite the coffee you had earlier he seems to be falling asleep on you.

You stare off into the darkness above your laptop, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m sorry.” Is all you can manage, and he manages a soft laugh.

“It isn’t your fault. I wasn’t a great friend.” He says and you barely hear him over the swelling music of the movie.

You think of the nights with your hand under the sheets and in your boxers, and your blood and his name on your lips. You shake your head.

“I was crap. I am crap.” He makes a noise of displeasure. “We were both crap.”

He hums gently and when you look at him a few minutes later for an answer you realise he has fallen asleep. His hand is still curled lightly next to yours and his curly hair is brushing your neck and cheek. His shades, finally, have slid down and his eyelashes fan over his dark skin. He has bags under his eyes, and you have to look back at your laptop quickly before you do something stupid like touch his cheek or run your fingers through his hair.

You move your hand, just a centimetre, and rest your knuckles against his palm. It’s all you’re going to get, and you know it. You really do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You manage. You are managing really well.

You sip cold coffee each time you feel your throat close up and watch the movie as intently as you can muster. You’ve turned the sound down and the subtitles on so he can sleep (you know he needs it) and you lose yourself in the plot finally.

You’re still hyper-aware of the callouses on his palm and fingers and the softness of your own hands. You use your sickles, but don’t train with them like he does with his sword.

It’s only when Dave shifts in his sleep and turns his head to _nuzzle_ your neck, his cold nose pressing against the soft skin just below your ear with a quiet ‘’Krkat’’ that the thorns digging deep into your lungs _squeeze_.

Blood fills your mouth and you make several half-aborted coughs and grunts as you wriggle out from under him trying not to wake him.

You shut your bedroom door and don’t have time to do much more than push the bathroom door before you’re on your knees before the toilet.

You don’t think you’ve ever choked out this many flowers before and there’s a moment of hope where you think between coughs that maybe, just maybe, this might be the end of it. The weeds’ last hurrah before withering and dying.

Then you realise with blood dribbling down your chin, the flowers won’t be dying. You will.

That feeling increases tenfold when the bathroom door swings open and Dave Strider, complete with lopsided shades and your hoodie on, is staring at you, curled up with a death’s rattle in your chest.

“ ‘kat?” he asks, obviously still half-asleep and drops to crouch beside you.

“Get out.” You say, with as much strength as someone with rose petals in their mouth can muster.

You’re close enough to Dave that you can see his wide, wide eyes under his shades. His hand comes up to touch your shoulder, and there’s an imprinted crease on his cheek from where he fell asleep on you.

You flinch away from him and retch a poppy up and you feel Dave recoil at the stem you spit out.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dave says with the stubbornness that made you detest him years ago. “You’re bleeding.”

You sniff and cough and wipe your mouth. Blood smears on the tile floor when you shift away from Dave.

“There’s nothing you can do.” you lie and his mouth sets in a firm line.

“I’ll still help you through it. What causes it?”

Your response is choked off by another rose and tears spring to your eyes when the thorns catch your throat.

Dave’s hand lands on your back and he rubs in comforting circles that help more than you’d like to admit.

You realise between coughs you’re sobbing, and Dave is shooshing you. Something inside of you, made impenetrable by thorns and brambles, breaks.

“It’s Hanahaki.” you admit. “It’s unrequited love and it’s stupid and it’s killing me.”

You don’t need to look at Dave to know he’s horrified.

“How do you cure it?” he demands, and he may not love you, but he would fight anything for you from a massive sea witch to this parasitic disease. His arm is still on your back and you lean into him shamelessly and he holds you tight.

“You can’t.” you say weakly.

He scoffs. “I can.”

“I have to admit my love.” You spit and the flowers seem to know that this conversation is too important to interrupt with another blood-soaked peony. “And they have to love me back.”

“Surely whoever they are loves you?’’ Dave demands and you wheeze your laughter.

“They don’t. They wouldn’t.’’

Dave audibly grits his teeth. “What do you have to lose?” he asks, fists clenching and flexing in anxiety.

“A friend.” You retort.

 

Dave falls silent and you’re glad for it. When you glance at him, he’s biting the inside of his lip—one of his few physical tells that isn’t hidden by his shades—and staring fixedly at the tiled floor. He’s thinking and you really don’t want him too.

He’s smarter than he’ll ever let on and everything is so close to falling apart.

“I didn’t know what she meant.” Dave says, mostly to himself, his thigh pressed against yours on the floor while you scrub your lips obsessively to get the blood off. There’s a weariness in your bones and you slump half against him. The blossoms inside of you seem to know what’s happening and they’re being to writhe like some tentacle monster.

You don’t think you have long left.

You glance at him, sidelong with lidded eyes. He’s looking at you with his shades in his hands, turning them over and over in a compulsive action. His eyes are wide and fixed on you and the exact same shade of the blood smeared across your knuckles.

You manage a grunt of sorts, to encourage him to keep talking.

“I think I do now.” He pauses again for a moment and you’re running out of time, but you want to give him all of it.

“Karkat you’re my best friend.”

Your heart is pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to get out and it’s all you can do to remember to keep breathing with your shattered lungs.

 “But I think I like you?” Dave sounds small and unsure and your nails dig into your palms hard.

“Don’t say that.” You mutter past numb lips and every single flower in your lungs seems to be blooming and expanding and spreading.

You can’t breathe.

Dave looks intently at you and with a heart-breaking realisation you see that he’s serious. He genuinely thinks he loves you.

“You admitting anything won’t get me better. Thanks for trying, I guess.” You can taste pollen in the back of your throat and if you weren’t so exhausted you would cry.

Dave moves to face you and you berate yourself at the pathetic lurch you make when he moves his leg away from yours.

“Karkat, I like you. I was too stupid to realise it before. Fuck even Terezi realised before me. Rose has been dropping hints for years—fuck she’s going to get off on this—” he catches himself going off topic and focuses back on you, his face as sincere as you’ve ever seen him. “I’ve been fucking stupid, making you go through this instead of just manning up and telling you.”

Your eyes slide away from his face and you blink hard. This universe fucking hates you. It really does.

Dave sighs, in a mixture of annoyance and somehow, complete endearment and his fingers lift your blood-stained mouth to his.

 

His lips are chapped, and his nose is still cold from his trip in the rain when it presses against your own, and you can feel the emotion behind it and you start to believe that maybe, the universe is giving you a saviour.

You clutch at his top; familiar fabric bunching under your hands and pull him even closer. Its everything you’ve ever wanted and will ever want, and it feels like you’re dying.

There are tears on your cheeks and dried blood flaking from your lips, but Dave lets out a tiny pleased sigh against your mouth and his fingers wind their way into your hair, rasping against your horns.

He pulls away eventually, but not far. You’re wrapped up in his arms and you’re clinging to him just as hard. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath coming just a bit too fast.

You try to catch your breath, used to windedness after months of injured lungs but when you take a breath, you don’t wheeze. Your chest expands and vines of thorns seem to wither and decay around your chest.

Your eyes widen as you suck in air and Dave’s hands press against your ribs, a grin spreading across his face as he realises what’s happened.

Only the cloying scent of death and pollen lingers on your tongue and when Dave leans in to kiss you again, his coffee-sweet taste takes it away.

 

You can breathe again.  

 

* * *

 

 

You pull apart a little while later, and he helps you to your feet when you stumble a little. He doesn’t pull away afterwards and you feel giddy with his arm wound around your shoulders and oxygen in your lungs and love in your heart.

You fall back onto your bed and Dave is right behind you with a blanket already around your shoulders.

You finish the movie with Dave’s hands burning brands on your leg and stomach. You lie curled up close together, like flowers on a stem, and when you tilt your head back to stare at his rosered eyes he leans down to kiss you again and again and again.

 

* * *

 

Dave Strider is nowhere near perfect, and your throat is raw from fauna but when he rests his head on your shoulder, you think that maybe you could be okay.

He jumps when you walk up behind him, and your hands are pudgy, and your nails are ragged from you gnawing at them. He’s covered in Hello Kitty Bandaids always; you bite your lips until they bleed. He steals your sweaters and you put your cold hands on the back of his neck whenever you get a chance. He sends you a never-ending stream of songs for you to check out and beats he made for you and you make him sit and watch your entire film collection. He laughs at your jokes, and at you when you trip over nothing and his eyes are wide with awe when you straddle his hips and take off the sweater you’ve had since you were 5 sweeps old and suck new possessive marks over his neck. His eyes are as red as your blood and he’s as perfect as you are flawed.

 

You’re both flickering in the street lamps, both trying to just survive in this world. You’re always anxious and sometimes he’s so flat that it hurts but you know he loves you more than he lets on and you love him more than life itself.

 

And he never buys you flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for sticking around!  
> And yes, Rose did drop hints to Dave about his gayness with Karkat, and happens to mention to him once or twice how to fix Hanahaki disease.   
> Terezi is in love with Vriska if anyone was wondering, she and Dave were one of those high-school "huh guess I'm gay now" relationships.   
> If you have any questions because my writing doesn't always make sense, just ask! I'm more than happy to clear anything up! 
> 
> Once again, please kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
